


"oh no there's only one bathtub 2" drafts from recording to posting

by More_night



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Experimental, M/M, Not a fic, but mostly it's about writing, i mean yes a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:53:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21572530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/More_night/pseuds/More_night
Summary: This is the breakdown of the steps required to write the "oh no there's only one bathtub 2" snippet. There is one step per chapter: recording, edits 1, edits 2, edits 3, edits post-beta. This is forJennytheshipperwho asked me to share one of my recorded drafts. It became too elaborate for a tumblr post, so I posted it here.The final text (chapter 5 here) is identical tochapter 14 of terror tumblings.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Kudos: 11





	1. recording and transcript

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [terror tumblings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18136067) by [More_night](https://archiveofourown.org/users/More_night/pseuds/More_night). 



* * *

The dictation proper starts at 3 minutes in, until about 2 minutes to the end. This is 13 minutes long. I had forgotten to set my timer when I started. When I dictate, I usually dictate a little under 100 words per minute. So to get the 300-400 words-ish length I was aiming for I should have been dictating for about 4 minutes--5 minutes top--not 8! I forgot to say thank you for listening at the end of the recording: thank you for listening!

[recording (as an mp3 file, 9,2 mb, 13 minutes, posted on tumblr)](https://davantagedenuit.tumblr.com/post/189322665154/this-is-for-cinemaocd-its-super-late-its-the)

(For the record, I'm not Australian. I'm in Montreal and my first language is French. I have a French name--English-speakers usually struggle with my first name: it has six letters of which only three are pronounced. So there's really no reason to think I could be Australian. But ok!--Australia rocks!)

* * *

Transcript, bad English and missing words and all:

Francis thought that agreeing to get into the same bathtub as James Fitzjames would be the hardest part. As it turns out, he was wrong. The fact that was actually the hardest was how to position two grown men in the same bathtub which held--to be frank--a little under one cubic meter of water. Even though they both have lost weight from exposition to scurvy and their long walk until Fort Resolution, Francis keeps looking back and forth from the tub and then to James and tries and see how they will fit together and he cannot seem to find a way that will happen. 

James takes care of that. Or at least volunteers to propose a solution. "I'll go in first," he says. "You'll sit against me, your back to my chest."

"Why?" Francis says. 

James shrugs. He says, "Well, my legs are longer."

Francis doesn't know exactly what to make of that. Of course, on some level he knows that James's legs are longer than his--much longer in fact. But he finds himself unable to think about that at the moment. 

They both strip down to their underclothes and enter the bath. The water is cooling down rapidly so this is going to have to be fast. They have no soap, nor greese with which to make it, and no oil, nor would they even have sand to rub their skin with. So washing is going to have to be splashing themselves with water that is now just only warm. Still, as Francis sits down in the tub, and as the water reaches his waist and chest, it feels unbelievably good. 

James has sat behind him and yet Francis does not dare recline into him, so that they would be slotted against each other. Although that would allow the water to reach a bit higher on his chest. Rather he stays still and stiff, sitting--[okay that was weird]--but James takes care of that too. He starts innocently, asking Francis, "Have you ever been, Francis, to the Sandwich Islands?"

Francis shakes his head, wondering if his hair that has grown somewhat since their departure from the boats in April touch James's face. 

James goes on. "I myself have never been. I admit I am eager to stare at a landscape with other things than snow and rocks and rocks and snow."

This gets Francis chuckling. Francis says, "Well, I've never been to the Pacific. Well, I've never been to the Sandwich Islands, but I have been to the Pacific. And certainly it will be something else than snow and rocks." The conversation makes little sense for them to have. Of course, James has been in the Pacific before. He was after all in China. Francis knows that. James knows that. 

But the point was not at all to talk about the Sandwich Islands. The point was to make Francis relax enough that he could be gently pushed to rest against James's chest. 

James is right: his legs are really long. So long that his knees come out of the surface of the water. They're bony and very white. Francis stares at them instead of wondering too much about the time they spend in this warm bath, slotted against each other. 

After a moment, James reaches out of the tub and grasps a cloth which he soaks in the water. Then he raises it above their heads and press, squeezing until water rains down on them, wetting their hair, their necks, their shoulders. Francis sighs with how good the warm water feels. He has closed his eyes. He tries to focus on the beating of his heart. It takes a moment him a moment to realize that it's not just the beating of his own heart, that he hears, but also the beating of James's heart, since they are so close.

* * *

646 words. Time needed: 55 minutes (10 minutes being nervous, 15 minutes for the recording, 30ish minutes to type the transcript the next morning).


	2. edits round 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> edits round 1: includes fixing typos, grammar and syntax as best I can; I also tend to develop and add at this stage (note the higher wordcount).

* * *

Francis thought that agreeing to get into the same tub as James Fitzjames would be the hardest part. As it turns out, he is quite wrong. The more difficult fact is how to position two grown men in the same tub which holds--to be frank--a little under one cubic metre of water. Even though they have both lost weight from the scurvy and the exertion of their walk to Fort Resolution, Francis's eyes keep going from the tub to James and back again as he tries to envision how they can fit together in so cramped a space. 

He becomes ready to admit defeat and call in Blanky so he can take their place. But James proposes a solution. "I'll go in first," he says. "You'll sit against me, your back to my chest."

"Why?"

James swallows. It does little to distract Francis from the blush on James's brow. James says, "Well. My legs are longer."

Francis does not know how this answers his question. (He possesses some abstract knowledge that James's legs are longer than his--much longer in fact. But he finds himself unable to think about that at the moment.) Come to think of it, he has no clear idea why he spoke his question in the first place.

They both strip down to their underclothes. James goes in. The water is cooling down rapidly so this is going to have to be fast. They have no soap, nor greese with which to make it, and no oil, not even sand to rub their skin with. Washing will have to be splashing themselves with water that is at the moment merely warm. As Francis sits down in the tub, nestling between James legs, the water reaches his waist and abdomen. 

Lord, he had forgotten what warmth felt like. 

Francis does not dare recline into James, so that they would be slotted against each other. It is tempting: it would allow the water to reach a bit higher on his chest. But it seems he cannot move a muscle. Rather he sits stiffly upright. 

James must feel his unease--and resolve to take care of it. 

He starts innocently, asking Francis about their return home: the Hudson Bay Company men will escort them up Great Slave Lake, then up Great Bear Lake and to the Beaufort Sea where the HMS Enterprise will be waiting. From then, they will embark on a journey down the Pacific, and then home. "Have you ever been, Francis, to the Sandwich Islands?"

Francis shakes his head, wondering if his longer, tousled patch of red hair touches James's face as he does so.

James goes on. His breath on Francis's neck is as warm as the water. "I myself have never been. I admit I am eager to see something other than a snowy forest, and to feel under my feet something else than rocks and ice."

This extracts a chuckle from Francis. He says, "I've never been to the Sandwich Islands, but I have been to the Pacific. It is something else than snow and ice alright." Francis senses the awkwardness of his words as he says them. He cannot possibly be teaching James anything: James has been in the Pacific. At least on his way to China. 

But the point was not to talk about the Sandwich Islands. The point was solely to make Francis mollify. While Francis has been speaking, James has pressed gently on his side with his free arm. As he closes his mouth, Francis realizes his back now rests against James's chest. His breath hitches with the realization, then calms as the warmth cushions him. 

James is right: his legs are indeed long. So long that his knees come out of the surface of the water. They are also so thin that Francis glimpses the bony, white kneecaps beneath the wet cloth of James's threadbare underpants. 

After a moment, James reaches out of the tub and grasps a cloth which he soaks in the water. Then he raises it above their heads and press, squeezing until water rains down on them, wetting their hair, their necks, their shoulders. Francis sighs satisfyingly. He has closed his eyes. He concentrates on the beating of his heart. Something in it seems off: to every beat, it seems there is an echo. 

It takes him a moment to realize that it is not only the beating of his own heart that he perceives, but also the one of James's heart, since their chests are so close. 

* * *

756 words. Time needed: 25 minutes.


	3. edits round 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> edits round 2: yet more additions; some work on pace; most sentences are shortened; curbing my natural urge to have characters go into introspective monologues.

* * *

Francis thought that agreeing to get into the same copper tub as James Fitzjames would be the hardest part. As it turns out, he is quite wrong. The more perillous thing is how to position two grown men in a tub which holds--to be frank--a little under half a cubic metre of water. Both of them have thinner frames than they had in Greenhithe--Francis is slightly more angular, and James's limbs are downright stringy). But still to fit them both in so cramped a space appears impossible. 

Francis's eyes go from the tub to James and from James to the tub. He becomes ready to admit defeat and call in Blanky so he can take their place--when James offers a solution. "I'll... go in first," he says. "You can sit against me, your back to my chest."

"Why?"

James swallows. He is blushing from cheekbones to brow. He says, "Well. My legs are longer."

Francis does not know how this answers his question. Yes. He is abstractly aware that James's legs are longer than his--much longer in fact. But he finds himself unable to think about that at the moment, lest it occupies most of his mind. Come to think of it, he has no clear idea why he spoke his question in the first place.

"Shall we?"

They both strip down to their underclothes. James goes in. The water is cooling down rapidly. They have no soap, nor greese with which to make it, and no oil, not even sand to rub their skin with. Washing will have to be splashing themselves with water that is at the moment merely warm. They do not have a minute to spare. Yet Francis moves with care as he steps in between James's legs. 

As Francis finally sits down in the tub, the water reaches his waist and abdomen. 

Lord, he had forgotten what warmth felt like. 

Francis sits stiffly upright. He does not dare recline into James, so that they would be slotted against each other. It is tempting: it would allow the water to reach a bit higher on his chest. On their hopelessly long walk to Fort Resolution, they have often slept like this, tucked against one another not to freeze. But now it seems Francis cannot move a muscle. 

James must feel his unease. 

He asks Francis about their return home: the Hudson Bay Company men will escort them up Great Slave Lake, then up Great Bear Lake and to the Beaufort Sea where the HMS _Enterprise_ will be waiting. From then, they will embark on a journey southward, through the Pacific, and then northward and home. "Have you ever been, Francis, to the Sandwich Islands?"

Francis shakes his head, wondering if his longer, tousled patch of red hair touches James's face as he does so.

James goes on. His breath on Francis's neck is as warm as the water. "I myself have never been. I admit I am eager to see something other than a snowy forest, and to feel under my feet something else than rocks and ice."

This extracts a chuckle from Francis. He says, "I've never been to the Sandwich Islands, but I have been to the Pacific. It is something else than snow and ice alright. All storms and rough seas." Francis senses the awkwardness of his words as he says them. He cannot possibly be teaching James anything: James has been in the Pacific. At least on his way to China. 

But the point was not to talk about the Sandwich Islands. The point was solely to make Francis mollify. While Francis was speaking, James was pressing gently on his side with his free arm. As he closes his mouth, Francis realizes his back now rests against James's chest. His breath hitches with the realization, then calms as the combined warmth of the water and James's skin envelops him. 

"We will discover the Islands together then. See if they live up to Captain Cook's praise."

Francis does not utter a word in reply. He fears now what child's blarney might come out of his mouth. Better to stare ahead at the water.

James is right: his legs are indeed long. So long that his knees come out of the surface of the water. They are also so thin that Francis glimpses the bony, white kneecaps beneath the wet cloth of James's threadbare underpants. 

After a moment, James reaches out of the tub and grasps a cloth. He soaks it in the water, then raises it above their heads, squeezing it until water rains down on them, wetting their hair, their necks, their shoulders. 

Francis sighs satisfyingly. He has closed his eyes. He concentrates on the beating of his heart. Something in it seems off: to every beat, it seems there is an echo. It takes him a moment to realize that it is not only the beating of his own heart that he perceives, but also the one of James's heart, since their chests are so close. 

"Francis?"

"Hm?"

"May I?"

Francis opens his eyes: James is holding the washcloth near his neck. 

Francis nods. 

James runs the cloth up the nape of Francis's neck and into his hair line, then back. He dips it in water again and water cascades on Francis's shoulders. 

_Damn the Sandwich Islands_ , Francis thinks.

* * *

893 words. Time needed: 41 minutes.


	4. edits round 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> edits round 3: taking out a bunch of words; more pacing work; trying to get the emotion right; trying to get the words right (i.e. a lot of dictionary work).

* * *

It has been a most perillous task to take his surviving men down Back's Fish River to the Hudson Bay Company fort. It is a much more challenging task to position two grown men in a tub which holds a little under half a cubic metre of water. Both of them have thinner frames than they had in Greenhithe--Francis is more angular, and James's limbs are downright stringy. But still to fit them both in so tight a space appears impossible. 

Francis's eyes go from the tub to James and from James to the tub. He becomes ready to admit defeat and call in Blanky so he can take their place when James offers a solution. "I'll... go in first," he says. "You can sit against me, your back to my chest."

"How so?"

James swallows. He is blushing from cheekbones to brow. "My legs are longer."

Yes. Francis is abstractly aware that James's legs are longer than his. Much longer in fact. 

He clears his throat. "Shall we?"

They both strip down to their underthings. James goes in. They have no grease, nor oil with which to make soap, and not even sand to rub their skin with. Washing will have to be splashing themselves with warm water. 

Moving with care, Francis sits down in the tub. The water reaches his waist and abdomen. _Oh merciful Lord_. He had forgotten what warmth felt like. 

Yet Francis does not dare recline into James. It is tempting: it would allow the water to reach a bit higher on his chest. On their hopelessly long walk to Fort Resolution, they have often slept like this, tucked against one another to fend off the cold. And now it seems Francis cannot move a muscle. 

James must feel his unease. Francis is as taut as a straining line.

In the most casual tone, James begins to talk of their return home: the Hudson Bay Company men will escort them through Great Slave Lake, then up Great Bear Lake and to the Beaufort Sea where the HMS Enterprise will be waiting. From then, they will embark on a journey southward, through the Pacific, rounding Cape Horn, and then northward and home. "Have you ever been, Francis, to the Sandwich Islands?"

Francis shakes his head.

James goes on. His breath on Francis's neck is as warm as the water. "I myself have never been. I admit I am infinitely eager to see something other than a snowy forest, and to feel under my feet something else than rocks and ice."

This finally extracts a chuckle from Francis. He says, "I've never been to the Sandwich Islands, but I have been to the Pacific. It is something else than snow and ice alright. All storms and rough seas." Francis senses how gauche his words are as he says them. He cannot possibly be teaching James anything: James has been in the Pacific. At least on his way to China. 

But the Sandwich Islands were not the point, neither was the Pacific, nor the journey back. While he was speaking, James was pressing gently on Francis's side. As he closes his mouth, Francis realizes his back now rests against James's chest. His breath hitches with the realization, then calms as the combined warmth of the water and James's skin envelops him. 

"We will discover the Islands together then. See if they live up to Captain Cook's praise."

Francis does not utter a word in reply. He fears now what child's blarney might come out of his mouth. Better to stare ahead. James is right: his legs are indeed long. So long that his knees come out of the surface of the water. They are also so thin that Francis glimpses the bony, white kneecaps beneath the wet cloth of James's threadbare underpants. 

James reaches out of the tub and grasps a cloth. He soaks it in the water, then raises it above their heads, squeezing it until water rains down on them, wetting their hair, their necks, their shoulders. 

With a contented sigh, Francis closes his eyes. 

"Francis?"

"Hm?"

"May I?"

Francis opens his eyes: James is holding the washcloth near his neck. 

Francis nods. 

James runs the cloth up the nape of Francis's neck and into his hair line. Warm water cascades on Francis's shoulders. 

_Damn the Sandwich Islands_ , Francis thinks. _To hell with the Pacific_. This is where home is.

* * *

735 words. Time needed: a little under two hours (it was a bad day--but bad days happen).


	5. final draft, post-beta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> final edits, post-beta: after the third round of edits, I sent the fic to my beta-reader Jonnie who does a wonderful job looking at my awkward English, at my style idiosyncrasies and offers helpful suggestions. thanks Jonnie!
> 
> (this text is identical to the one posted as the 14th chapter of terror tumblings [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18136067/chapters/51430567))

* * *

It has been a most perilous task to take his surviving men down Back's Fish River to the Hudson Bay Company fort. It is a much more challenging task to position two grown men in a tub which holds a little under 50 gallons of water. Both of them are thinner than they were in Greenhithe--Francis's frame is more angular, and James's limbs are downright stringy. But still to fit them both in so tight a space appears impossible.

Francis's eyes go from the tub to James and from James to the tub. He becomes ready to admit defeat and call Blanky so he can take their place when James offers a solution.

"I'll... go in first," he says. "You can sit against me, your back to my chest."

"How so?"

James swallows. He is blushing from cheekbones to brow.

"My legs are longer."

Yes. Francis is abstractly aware that James's legs are longer than his. Much longer in fact. He clears his throat.

"Shall we?"

They both strip down to their underthings. James goes in. The arrival of fourty wan, stranded sailors at Fort Resolution has eaten through the little luxuries the fort held: they have no soap. And since they both have had enough of ash and sand, washing will have to be splashing themselves with warm water.

Moving with care, Francis sits down in the tub. The water reaches his waist. _Oh merciful Lord._ He has forgotten what warmth felt like.

Yet Francis does not dare lean against James. It is tempting: it would allow the water to reach a bit higher. On their hopelessly long walk to Fort Resolution, they have often slept like this, tucked against one another to fend off the cold. And now it seems Francis cannot move a muscle.

James must feel his unease: Francis is as taut as a straining line.

In the most casual tone, James begins to talk of their return home: the Hudson Bay Company men will escort them through Great Slave Lake, then up Great Bear Lake and to the Beaufort Sea where the HMS _Enterprise_ will be waiting. From there, they will embark on a journey southward, through the Pacific, rounding Cape Horn, and then northward and home.

"Have you ever been, Francis, to the Sandwich Islands?"

Francis shakes his head.

James goes on. His breath on Francis's neck is as warm as the water.

"I myself have never been. I admit I am infinitely eager to see something other than a snowy forest, and to feel under my feet something else than rocks and ice."

This finally extracts a chuckle from Francis.

"I've never been to the Sandwich Islands, but I have been to the Pacific. It is something else than snow and ice alright. All storms and rough seas," he says. Francis senses how gauche his words are as he says them. He cannot possibly be teaching James anything: James knows the Pacific. He has been to China and a myriad other places.

But the Sandwich Islands were not the point, neither was the Pacific, nor the journey back. While he was speaking, James kept pressing gently on Francis's side. Francis closes his mouth and discovers his back is now resting against James's chest. His breath hitches with the realization, then evens out as the combined warmth of the water and James's skin envelops him.

"We will discover the Islands together then. See if they live up to Captain Cook's praise."

Francis does not utter a word in reply. He fears what blether might come out of his mouth. Better to stare ahead. James is right: his legs are indeed long. So long that his knees stick out of the water. They are also so scrawny that Francis glimpses the bony, white kneecaps beneath the wet cloth of James's threadbare underpants.

James reaches out of the tub and grabs a cloth. He soaks it in the water, then raises it above their heads, squeezing it until water rains down on them, wetting their hair, their necks, their shoulders.

With a contented sigh, Francis closes his eyes.

"Francis?"

"Hm?"

"May I?" James says, carefully touching the flannel to the nape of Francis's neck.

Francis nods.

James runs the cloth up Francis's neck and into his hair line, warm water trickling down Francis's shoulders.

 _Damn the Sandwich Islands_ , Francis thinks. _To hell with the Pacific._ This is where home is.

* * *

735 words. Total time: I'd say about 5 hours, including planning and notes before during writing and edits, formatting before posting, and excluding Jonnie's time to do the betaing.


End file.
